In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. He was tall and straight, and his expression was good. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. "I could have sworn I saw him enter this passage. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness.
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